Tonight, my story releases! I’m excited. I hope you all love it. It’s as close to me and where I live as a story can be. The characters are fun and quirky—as they should be. Gurdon’s just down the road, and my father’s family has deep roots there.
Anyway, I hope you pick up a copy. If you like my sense of humor, you should enjoy this book. I’m crossing my fingers you love it. 🙂
A tabloid reporter seeks the truth behind an alien abduction claim made by a woman whose husband disappeared, although the truth may destroy his chances to woo her beautiful daughter…
Pre-order your copy!
Excerpt from Little Green Dreams
Here’s when Sandy realizes Joe’s there as a reporter. She’s sitting at his table in the diner where she works, watching him eat pie. Loy and Coy Nolan are locals and enjoy watching Sandy and Joe’s instant attraction…
Joe Franchetti… With her back to the two Nolans, Sandy tried his name out on her lips while Joe’s attention returned to his pie. Joe Franchetti… The name sounded as dark and exotic as the man looked.
Her gaze flicked over his bent head with avid attraction. Perhaps it was pre-programmed in her DNA, but something about his darkness captivated her. Deep, olive complexion. Dreamy, brown eyes. Dark, wavy, close-cropped hair. Even the hairs on his broad, long-fingered hands and arms fascinated her.
Her eyes crept to the collar of his shirt and the black hair that sprang from the open neck, then journeyed up the strong column of his throat to the wide, firm jaw speckled with the shadow of his afternoon beard.
Definitely not from around here. Too bad he was only passing through.
She wondered at her fascination. Perhaps it was the hint of mystery surrounding him, an air of something dangerous and starkly male. Or maybe she was just bored. But right now, looking at him was a joy. She shivered deliciously.
“You comin’ down with somethin’, Sandy?”
“I’m just fine, Coy, but thanks for askin’,” Sandy said, irritation making her voice a little sharp. That nosy man had probably counted the seconds she’d stared shamelessly at Joe.
With a sigh, Joe pushed away his plate. He looked up and seemed surprised to find her staring, then his gaze shifted beyond her shoulder. The two Nolans must have been staring, too.
Sandy cringed. He must think he’s so far back in the sticks that we don’t have a television to watch for entertainment.
“Sandy, did you know Joe here’s a writer?”
A writer? She stiffened, suspicion pushing away all the melty, mushy feelings she’d had. Sandy’s glance whipped to Joe.
His eyes shuttered. “I’m a science writer,” he said a little too quickly for her liking.
“Oh, yeah?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Which publication?”
“Scientific American,” he countered, not missing a beat. He was a slick operator if she ever saw one.
“See there, Sandy? A patriotic boy,” Coy said.
“He’s here to write an article about the Light,” Loy interjected cheerfully.
“And you just happened to stop at Dee’s Diner as soon as you hit town?” Eyes narrowed, she waited to see whether he’d squirm.
“Dee’s pies are famous,” Coy reminded her.
Sandy’s gaze didn’t waver—she was as patient as a cat waiting for a mouse to show itself. Only Joe Franchetti was a larger, more dangerous sort of rodent. “He’d never even heard about them.”
“Really,” Joe said, raising one hand in the air. “The pie was great.”
Sandy couldn’t help thinking God would strike him dead if he went any further with this charade.
He shrugged and gave her a boyishly sheepish grin. “I’ve been assigned to look into the history and folklore surrounding The Gurdon Light.”
She didn’t believe him for a minute. His handsome face and flirty ways had been trained on her ever since he’d stepped into the diner. “And is there one particular theory that you’re more interested in?” she asked, knowing her tone was downright belligerent but not giving a damn.
“Ah, Sandy, give the man a break,” the younger Loy chided. “Aren’t you bein’ a little hyper-sensitive?”
She shot him a scowl. “Hyper-what? You shouldn’t use such big words, Loy. You’ll get a headache.”
Coy gave a suspicious cough. “Sandy, maybe it’s fate—kismet.”
She looked over her shoulder to glare at Coy. “Kismet, my a—”
“Now, now,” Coy said. “Don’t go losin’ that temper of yours.”
Joe removed a twenty from his wallet and laid it on the table. “Keep the change. Look, I can see you aren’t happy with my being here.” He scooted across the vinyl bench, preparing to leave. “If I could get those directions to the bed and breakfast, I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Find your own damn bed,” she said, glaring. Reporters didn’t deserve civility.
Joe raised an eyebrow, but the corners of his sexy mouth quirked. The man was amused by her rage. Grrr.
“Now, hush up, Sandy,” Coy said, his words clipped. “Or I’ll tell your mother how rude you’ve been to a stranger to our town.” He smiled at Joe. “I better draw you a map, Joe. I’ll walk out with you.”
Sandy kept her face averted as Coy slid from his seat. A knot of tension built in her belly. She hated acting like a bitch with anyone. That Coy had felt the need to dress her down made her ashamed.
“I appreciate it, Coy,” Joe said. “Well, it was nice meeting you folks.”
She snorted.
Then, the slithering snake had the gall to include her in the smile he flashed.
Sandy jutted her chin higher and bristled when he chuckled.
“Nice meetin’ you, Joe,” Loy chimed in. “I’ll be seein’ you around. I can point you to the folks you need to talk to about that Light.”
“That’s very kind of you, Loy. I’ll see you soon, Sandy,” Joe said the last softly and then walked away.
Damn, if his voice saying her name didn’t make her toes curl.
“Ooo-wee!” Loy howled once the two men exited the restaurant. “I can see the steam risin’ from your ears. I’m thinkin’ you have an admirer, Sandy-girl.”
Sandy swatted him on the shoulder. “Do us both a favor—don’t think!”
Loy laughed. “I’m outta here. Say goodbye to Dee.”
Sandy stood, starch in her backbone, and began to clear the dishes from the two tables. She refused to give Joe Franchetti the benefit of a single glance as he left the parking lot. Strange, but she knew he was staring at her through the glass. Why else would her clothes suddenly feel tight and her skin flushed?
Of all the rotten luck. Sandy knew just about every man around Clark County, and not a single one had ever left her breathless with just a smile.
Sandy had been pleased when Joe’s gaze had lingered as she’d waited on his table. Her gullibility angered her. At least now, she understood the danger in the air. She just wished she’d used a little more caution and paid attention to the niggling suspicion at the back of her mind.
She’d have to give Joe Franchetti a wide berth, however handsome and fascinating he was—and that was going to be nigh on impossible to do now.
She could just kick herself for suggesting Oralia’s place. All he’d done was smile, and she’d looked into those doe-brown eyes and melted into a puddle of goo. When he’d mentioned needing a hotel, her first instinct had been to blurt out Oralia’s Bed and Breakfast.
The thought raised her temper another notch as she stomped over to the sink with the dishes. That reporter had seduced her with his shiny hair and shiny teeth.
He’d even felt her up when she’d brought him Dee’s special pie—gliding his big, hairy fingers along her arm, making her think how delicious it would feel for his hand to glide along her skin…well, elsewhere. And he’d done it right there in front of God and the two Nolans!
In a heartbeat, Sandra’s anger turned to panic. Sending Joe Franchetti to Oralia’s was a big mistake because her mother was at home—right next door. She had to keep a distance between the two of them. There was no telling what her mother might say.
The last time she’d spoken to a reporter, he’d made her look like a nut. And worse, he’d cast suspicion on her over Bobby’s disappearance.
Pushing through the kitchen door, she spied Dee glossing the tops of a batch of fried pies with a stick of butter.
“Dee, I have to leave early.” Sandra reached for her purse hanging on a hook beside the bathroom. “Something’s come up.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with that young man who was just here, would it?” Dee’s eyes teased. “I saw him. Had to get myself a look at whatever had your cheeks glowin’ like ripe peaches. Don’t say as I blame you; he’s a mighty handsome man.”
“I didn’t notice.” Never good at lying, she felt her cheeks burn. “I need to check on Mama,” Sandy said, pretending disinterest while searching her purse for her keys.
“Of course you do.” Dee grinned. “Say hello to Amelia for me.”
“I will. Thanks, Dee. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sandy hurried to her car, muttering to herself. “Great. Why couldn’t I have a normal mother? Why couldn’t she just be waiting for the Lord to call her home? No, not my mama. She’s waitin’ for a phone call from E.T.”
Malcolm Winslow knew he stood out in this crowd. How could he not? With his longish, uncombed hair, thick beard, and the tattoos displayed by the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt, not to mention the fact he was armed and wore a Kevlar vest, he drew every eye the second he entered the fancy barn that was lit up like the Fourth of July.
So, here comes Knox Ramsey. Just the name stayed in my head for the longest time. His story was supposed to be the first in the We Are Dead Horse series, but he was still percolating, still being an A-hole in the back of my brain, so I skipped to Cash Whitaker who wants to run the town. Cold Hard Cash was certainly a blast to write. His sudden, logical desire for a wife sparked a challenge in his PA, Lila Hanson, and as soon as her sister Nah-Nahs dug in to help her, it was all over for poor Cash. Knox and Carleen played in the background of that story, with Carleen’s antics, trying to get Knox’s attention, providing a lot of humor.
